


Fire, Ice, Fuck

by Tish



Category: Always Crashing in the Same Car (2007)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Gen, M/M, Masturbation in Bathroom, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 04:50:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17036981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tish/pseuds/Tish
Summary: The P.M. thinks he's having a good day. Bill ensures he won't.





	Fire, Ice, Fuck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pasiphile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasiphile/gifts).



“Now I know this belligerent rabble, these fine and honourable members of the opposition don't want to hear it, but our policies are working, and Great Britain is working.” The fire was in Jim's belly as he spoke, drowning out the shouts and laughter as he outlined his crowning jewel of government. He'd paused and changed tack in his attack as the Speaker started to shift in his chair, a pre-emptive grumble of warning to keep to a standard of decorum.

“Lower unemployment, families better off, a sense of pride and purpose. A future for everyone.” At every point he made, he slapped the edge of his hand on top of the other palm as he spoke passionately. Surely this would be a speech to remember, one for the books, he thought to himself as he paused for dramatic effect, looking around the chamber at the unrepresentative swill opposite him.

 

Watching on a monitor, Bill relished the idea of pushing Jim off that high-horse and grinding him underfoot. A confident, upbeat Jim was always a challenge, and overcoming a challenge was second nature to Bill.

He contented himself with chewing out a staff member who'd made a sloppy job of a report. The lad was a wet behind the ears, prattling little twerp whose father made too much money too fast and was attempting to push the young idiot into a life of political intrigue.

“Listen to me, I know you didn't actually do this report because little sods like you always fob it off on other people after sitting on your skinny arse until the last minute,” Bill was relishing the young man's reaction as his face blanched and he flinched back at every movement Bill made. He reminded Bill of a young Jim. The thought made him smile, unnerving the young man even more.

“Be thankful I don't have you cleaning the toilets instead. I'm sure that ancient Polish woman who comes in at the crack of dawn would do your job spectacularly well.” Bill finished with a dismissive flick of his finger, sending the kid scurrying away, both petrified and relieved.

Bill turned back to the monitor and checked the time. Jim was still orating, so Bill turned the sound down most of the way and returned to his reports, scheming all the while.

 

There was a defiance in Jim's eyes as Bill walked in for their meeting. Bill meet his steady gaze and simply went through the items in his most business-like fashion, not giving anything away. He could see that Jim was starting to become rattled, a frantic grasping of his hands here, a tightening of his mouth there.

After an interminable measure of time, Jim snapped. He tried to keep his tone neutral and conversational. “Did you happen to catch my speech?”

“Speech?” Bill asked, not looking up from a note he was writing.

“Yes. In Parliament,” Jim replied.

“In Parliament? Well it makes a change from a speech at a Women's Institute lunch, or a primary school fund raiser,” Bill replied, deliberately turning a page in his planner.

“It's part of my duty and an honour to go to those events. I serve the public after all,” Jim bristled at Bill's obtuseness. “Are you listening to me?”

“Indeed I am. I can work as well as listen. In fact, I was listening to your speech whilst I was working. It's harder to do actual work when you're _giving_ a speech.” Bill twisted the knife in and slowly screwed the cap back on his pen. “Any other matters you need to bring to my attention so I can repair the damage you've done?”

“The damage I've done?” Jim seethed as he stared daggers at Bill. “I have brought the country back from its knees,” he paused at the smirk from Bill. A flash of memory of himself sinking to his knees before Bill made him break into a sweat and he started to stammer. He swallowed and blinked rapidly as Bill stayed silent, merely tilting his head.

“Fuck you, Bill,” Jim managed to spit out. “You wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me.”

“And if it wasn't for me,” Bill let the sentence hand in mid-air. He sat back in his chair, one hand placed above the other on the table, a picture of serenity.

Jim flinched back, trying to cover by looking out the window. He felt the oppressive weight of Bill's steady gaze and gnawed at his hand. He jerked a hand to the phone's intercom. “Don't I have a meeting?”

“Not until half past, sir,” came the smooth reply of his assistant.

Jim keyed off the intercom and glared at Bill. “This meeting is over.”

Bill aligned his pen and planner even more precisely in front of him and spoke quietly. “Do you even know what your next meeting is about, and with who?”

“Whom,” Jim countered, frowning as he quickly tried to remember both if that was the correct grammar, and what the bloody meeting involved. “I'll be given the folder as soon as you get the fuck out of my office, I'm not a fucking computer.”

Bill twisted his wrist to check his watch as he rose, speaking as he walked. “I'm in that meeting, and I know exactly who is likely to try and fuck you over, and who is loyal to your wretched hide. I'll give you a swift kick in the shin when you need to know which is which. That'll save you the trouble of sitting there with your mouth open like you're waiting to suck my impressively large cock.” He paused, one hand on the door. “Just like the way you're looking right now, Jim.”

Jim shut his mouth quickly, the after-taste of Bill's come welling up in his memories. “Fuck you,” he said to himself as he remembered choking on Bill's cock, down on his knees as he humiliated himself for this sick fuck's idea of what? Revenge? The thrill of owning someone like a toy, a pet, a sex slave?

 

With the door safely closed, he felt himself grow slightly hard at the memory, tipping over into a spiral of shame-filed lust. He glared at the clock. How the fuck could he spin out from the heights of accomplishment, to the depths of his self-loathing in a matter of minutes?

Still trying to force his twitching erection down through sheer willpower, Jim felt ice grip his stomach, extinguishing the fire and passion, leaving a cold, dark sinking feeling.

He bolted to his private bathroom and took out his cock, the reddish-purple colour standing out against the washed-out, sterile whiteness of the tiles. He palmed against it, trying to channel his rage into reclaiming the elation he'd felt just before Bill spoilt the mood.

He could just about picture Bill sinking to his knees, begging for mercy, for forgiveness, for Jim's cock. So close, so close. He jerked his head back at his own touch, catching his reflection in the mirror, catching his own haunted, pale eyes and knowing Bill would never do his bidding.

In an instant, he was back in his memories again, kneeling and grovelling before Bill. He felt himself grow flaccid and a flash of Bill sliding his hand slowly back into his sleeve, his intent clear as Jim's cock-head drew back into its folds. A turtle shrinking into its shell. A pathetic man trying to jerk himself off and failing.

 

He ignored the buzz of the intercom for as long as he could.

 


End file.
